Sci Fi & Fantasy / Phaedor

     The cab ride home from Bluegrass Airport was uneventful. I

dozed off and on, between glimpses of horse farms that rapidly

dissolved into subdivisions, office buildings and restaurants.

Everybody “oohs and aahs” over the horse farms, but they were

disappearing faster than a pony keg at a frat party. Lexington

was losing alot of its charm, and the traffic was a major

culprit. It was times like this I was almost glad I couldn’t    

drive.

     One of the nifty little drawbacks to my magical abilities,

is that I carry around a highly charged magnetic field wherever I

go. At least that’s what some poindexter at MIT told me. Whenever

I get within a few feet of anything electronic for an extended

period of time, it’s bad news. That includes car batteries,

computers, watches, and of course, cell phones. As if I didn’t

have enough things to make my life difficult already.

     I put that thought on hold, as the cab pulled up in front of

my house. I have a nice, normal, two story, Bedford stone ranch.

It’s a 1960’s style home that had been built when the far end of

Nicholasville Road had still been considered the boonies. Now I

could throw a rock and hit my choice of mall, car lot, or

restaurant. The joys of progress my ass.

     I pulled the suitcase out of the trunk and my ribs

protested. I had regained enough energy on the trip home to heal

them, but I never use any magical power unless I absolutely need

to. The tiniest pinch of magic can save your life, and you never

know when you might need it. I wasn’t dying and the pain wasn’t

anything I couldn’t handle.

     I paid the cabbie and ambled up the solid stone steps to my

porch. It was a crisp, cool, October evening and I loved it. Fall

is my favorite time of the year. When I was a little kid, I used

to love sitting on the front porch with my mom, looking at all

the glittering stars. She died in a fire when I was ten. Fifteen

years later, standing alone on my porch, it still made me sad. It

was a familiar pain that always like to linger, so I forced

myself to go on inside. I grabbed a handful of mail from the box,

unlocked the door, and lumbered inside. I dropped the suitcase as

soon as I was in, and my ribs thanked me.

     I was glad I’d left the living room lamp on a timer. Maybe

it’s just a natural side effect of my profession, but I hate

going into dark rooms. Dark rooms usually involve evil, super-

natural creatures, vomit, blood, and crying. Oh wait, that was

actually my last date.

     I plopped down on my sofa and began flicking through the

mail. My heart sank into my stomach, as one particular letter

stood out from all the others. It was addressed to Kingston

Bethlehem. Kingston had been my driver and my best friend. He’d

been dead three months now, killed by a rogue werewolf while

visiting his family in Chicago. I never found the vile furball

that did it. By the time I got there, the trail was hopelessly

cold, even with magic. I’d even tried some pretty good psychics,

but they all came up dry.

     It seemed like yesterday he was sitting on this very couch,

smiling his thousand watt smile and giving me a hard time about

one thing or another. Kingston loved Hawaiian shirts, Cuban

cigars and gospel music. Despite his best efforts, I’d never

succumbed to any of those particular temptations. I’d felt funny

at first, about having a black driver, but it was obvious to

anyone who ever met Kingston, he was nobody’s flunkie.

     The doorbell rang and I jumped. I quickly opened up my

suitcase and retrieved one of the Excalibers. No, I don’t make a

habit of answering the door with a gun in my hand. But, it’s not

like I get many night time visitors, at least not ones that

aren’t trying to eat me.

     I have a spell on my front door that makes it see-through,

like a one-way mirror. I don’t like looking through peepholes

anymore. I took a particularly nasty shotgun blast through my

front door one time and it soured me on the practice. I applied a

spark of magic to the door and it became immediately transparent.

From a safe vantage, I looked through the tricked out door and

groaned.

     It was Cristoff and Tatyana. They were hardly my friends,

but I didn’t have any immediate plans to shoot them, so I set the

gun back down, de-activated the spell, and opened the door.

Cristoff was on the left, in his GQ lite attire, flashing his best used car salesman smile. I always thought the combination of

his snappy clothes with a full beard and long hair looked sort of

gay. It had never stopped him from attracting more than his fair

share of female admirers though. Hell, he was practically married

to the woman I loved, who was I to throw stones?

     Tatyana was on the right, wearing one of her many Emma Peel

style body suit deals that always had more leather straps,

utility belts and weapons than actual fabric. It was a grey

outfit tonight, minus all the accoutrements. Tatyana was very

attractive in that James Bond, bad girl kind of way. Great bone

structure, pouty lips, and auburn hair, cut short and done up in

one of those deceptively complicated Euro-styles. I glanced into

her smoldering chestnut eyes and they hardened at the contact.

The whole thing suddenly had a good cop/bad cop feel to it.

     “Well, if it isn’t Abercrombie and bitch.” I couldn’t resist

Cristoff’s smile dimmed almost imperceptibly.

     “Hello, Martin.” Cristoff extended his hand, a gesture that

should have set off alarm bells right away. “Can we come in for a

minute?”

     Like a dumbass, I reached across my body to shake his hand.

The second I made contact, I saw a blur on my right periphery.

I’d barely begun to move when something extremely hard slammed

into my temple. I was weak kneed and disoriented. I tried to

summon up the power for a lightning bolt, but couldn’t even

generate a spark. It was that son of a bitch Cristoff, who still had a deathgrip on my hand. He was draining away my ambient

magical energy. Any spell I tried to muster into being just got

absorbed before I could activate it. Being a Leech was foremost

among Cristoffs meager arsenal of skills.

     I tried to focus on Tatyana, ineffectively trying to use my

left arm as a shield. Whatever she had, I think I caught a

glimpse of a club, smashed into my flailing arm and it went numb.

As soon as my protective arm dropped, she connected with my skull

again and everything went dark.

     I woke up with a really nasty headache, and most likely a

concussion. When you’ve been thunked in the melon as many times

as I have you become intimate with the side effects. It slowly

registered that I was half splayed out over my coffee table. I

tried to move, but my face and chest were pinned to the hardwood.

I could feel a hand pressing down on my neck and my left arm felt

like it was in a hammerlock. The smell of expensive cologne hung

thick in my nostrils, and I fought off a small wave of nausea.

     “Is that you Cristoff?”

     “Yeah, Martin,” he whispered, “sorry about all this.”

     Tatyana’s face came into focus, invading my personal space.
     “He’s awake, Phaedor.”

     Crap. The party was over now. Phaedor didn’t go out and

mingle with the little people very often. He was real big on

delegation. The fact that he was paying me a personal visit did

not bode well at all.

     “Very good, Tatyana.” He had a sharp, meticulous voice like

scissors cutting.

     I glared at Phaedor in his grey Armani suit and burgundy

tie. He looked a young fifty, but in all truth, he was probably

older than dirt. In fact, Phaedor looked exactly the same as when

I first met him fifteen years ago. He smiled a very patient and

beneficial smile.  

     “Hey, Phaedor.”
    
     “Greetings, Martin.”
    
     “I guess this means you’ve screwed my Guards and Wards all

to hell.”
    
     “Alas, your Wards are no more.” Yes, he actually does talk

that way. “I was impressed with the way you stacked them one

across another, like interlocking tiles. You always were very

creative.”

     “Obviously not creative enough.” I could admit that he was

better than me, but I didn’t have to like it.

     “Obviously.” Phaedor’s air of condescension said it all, as

he reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a tiny clay jar.
He removed the earthen lid, said ‘awaken’, then began pouring a

thick, red, viscuous fluid out onto the coffee table. Phaedor

extended his hand over the substance and closed his eyes. The goo

began to bubble, then started swirling up into the air, a

miniature tornado.

     The result of all this sorcerous activity was a rather

disturbing little creature. Six inches tall, it looked like a

demented pixie that someone had tried to burn alive. Stringy

limbs, odd musculature, and an oversize head, gave it the

impression of something half finished. Raw, was possibly the best

word to describe the thing.

     I’d never seen one before, but I was fairly certain what it

was. They were extremely difficult to create and were always done

with a specific purpose in mind. Phaedor must be needing

something from me pretty badly.

     “Wow, Phaedor. You conjured up a Homonculus just for me? I’m

embarrassed. I don’t have a gift for you.”

     Phaedor ignored me. “Servant, engage him.”
    
     “Yes, Master.” The Homonculus had choking frogs instead of a

voicebox.

     The creepy little mass of alchemical properties moved

awkwardly, like some Harryhausen nightmare. It clambered over my

face and took up a position on the crown of my head, where it

then proceeded to bite me. I winced as I felt the puncture of two sharp teeth, and then release.

     “Yuagh! His flesh is foul. Must I Master?” The thing

whimpered.

     “Obey me servant.” Phaedor intoned.

     THe Homonculus groaned, then sank his fangs back into me.

After a moment, there was a ‘plink’ sound, but only in my head,

like a psychic noise. That’s when I knew what the creature was

for.

     “Servant, open his mind.” A rare eagerness lit up Phaedor’s

eyes. “I wish to know everything that transpired in Canada.”

     “That’s what all this is about?” I was honestly

flabbergasted. I’d expected something much more ominous. “If you

wanted to know about my trip to Canada, you could have just asked

me like a normal person.”

     “Would you have told me?”

     I hated to admit it, but he had me. “Well, no.”

     “So there you go.” I couldn’t tell if Phaedor was smiling or

constipated. “As you know, our last meeting was resolved somewhat

unfairly. I felt my interests would be better served by using

more direct methods.” There was impatience burning underneath his words. “Now, servant.”

     I heard the mental ‘plink’ again, then my own disembodied

voice emanate out into the room. “Hi, you’ve reached the brain of

Martin Nytefist, if you are trying to access his thoughts or

memories, they are not at their desk or otherwise unavailable at

this time. Please try again later.” Then a really bad muzak

version of ‘The Girl From Ipa Nima’ began playing.

     Phaedor looked as if he was about to have a seizure. This

from a guy whose most notable show of strong emotion was a raised

eyebrow. Point for me.

     “Servant.” The words boiled out of his mouth.
    
     The now familiar ‘plink’ was louder this time. I heard my

own voice again, which always sounds much more hick than I would

like it to. “If you’re using a touchtone spell, press 1 now. If

you are using standard telepathy, press 2 now. If you would like

to return to the main menu, press ‘star’ now.”

     Phaedor stared at me strangely. “What a fine little wrinkle

you’ve added to the proceedings, Martin.” He began pacing, an

intense expression on his face. “Well, we both know you are not

psychic…a spell perhaps. Cristoff?”

     Cristoff felt the blame shifting his way. “There’s no way he

generated a new spell. I’ve got him clamped down good. If it’s a

spell, it’s an old one.”

     The average person tends to lump psychic abilities and

magical powers all into one big, grab bag. They’re not even close

to the same things. Phaedor was correct, I’m not one bit psychic.

What I can do is apply magical energy in a manner that creates a

simple and efficient psychic ‘effect’. Like the nifty little

telepathic shield I keep running all the time.

     “Phaedor?” Tatyana asked.

     “Yes, Tatyana.”

     “Perhaps if we render him unconscious,” she looked right at

me and smiled as she said it, “his spell will weaken enough for

the Homonculus to do its work.”

     Phaedor seemed to be giving the suggestion serious

consideration.

     “Why do you always have to be such a hardcase, Martin?”

Cristoff asked. “Just tell him what he wants to know. You would

probably be with Aurora right now if you weren’t so stubborn.”

     “When you crawl into bed with Aurora later tonight, and

you’re all filled up with my energy, let me know how much better

the sex is.” It was pretty vicious, even for me, but he’s the one

who brought up a sore topic.

     Cristoff slammed my head down on the coffee table. “Have it

your way.”

     Phaedor waved his hand dismissively. “Very well, Tatyana.”

     Tatyana’s smile grew as she revealed a thick handled club.

It had a large pewter head with mystical sygils engraved upon it.

As I concentrated on the weapon I could sense the magic laying

heavily within it. You can’t say she didn’t come prepared.

Tatyana drew the club back two-handed, a fair ways behind her,

arching her back to achieve maximum power. Christ! She was going

to try and take my head off.

     “You hit me with that again and I’ll kick your bony ass all  

the way to…”

     Wham! The club slammed full force into my skull and I

remembered, that even when you know it’s coming, it always hurts

more than you think it will. It hurt so bad, I didn’t even

realize I’d almost bitten through my tongue until the blood began

seeping out the corner of my mouth.

     The blood.

     An unusually talkative Vampyre once told me, “If you cannot

find it anywhere else, there is always magic in the blood.” At

the time I thought it was a very Vampyre-like thing to say.

Looking back, maybe I had missed the point. IT was that hope that

inspired a very desperate plan. I wasn’t even sure it would work,

and Tatyana would have to come alot closer for me to even try.

     “Haw, Ta-ya-uh…” I tried to mumble something coherent

enough to draw her nearer, but the words came out like bloody

oatmeal. “Ah wu uh awl.”

     Tatyana walked over and bent down right in front of me. “Now

you wish to talk?” The disdain was thick in her voice. “You are

so weak, Nytefist. I’m surprised you lasted this…”

     That’s when I spewed a mouthful of blood right into her

face. She lurched back, screaming in anger, trying to wipe the

scarlet mess out of her eyes. I couldn’t use any of the magic

inside me while Cristoff was on top of me, but if there was just

a trace of power left in my blood I had a fighting chance.

     I threw my will into the crimson stain smeared across

Tatyana’s face. There was a momentary panic as nothing seemed to

be happening. Then, like good whiskey going down, I felt the

familiar pull of my own magic. I put it to quick and efficient

use.

     “Phaedor, he’s up to something.” Cristoff was losing his

nerve. “What should I…”

     He was looking back at Phaedor when I compelled Tatyana to

slam the club directly into his forehead. Her movements were

wooden and forced, but nonetheless effective. There was a

sickening thud and I felt Cristoff go limp on top of me.

     As I began to shrug Cristoff’s dead weight off of me, I saw

the blood receding away from Tatyana’s skin. Like time-lapse

photography, her right eye cleared, then a pale cheekbone peeked

through. Her magical defenses were rapidly dissipating my

advantage. In a few more seconds I’d lose my hold on her. I

projected my intent through the last smear of blood draining away

from her face. Tatyana proceeded to smash herself in the forehead

with her own weapon. She crumpled not so delicately to the

ground.

     I made my way free of Cristoff and grabbed the Homonculus

off of my head with a painful yank. I squeezed the little

monstrosity until it emitted a pitiful ‘yeep’, then exploded in a

cloud of foul smelling, red dust. I caught Phaedor’s glare and we

looked at each other in silence. I knew he could toast my

giblets, but a part of me wanted a piece of Phaedor. The

irrational part that always gets me into trouble. We continued to

stare at each other. I was waiting for it.

     Phaedor began to laugh. A low chuckle that quickly plunged

into a deep well of unexpected mirth.

     “What’s so damn funny?”

     “Bravo, Martin! That was truly outstanding. I’m never

dissapointed in your ingenuity.” He clapped his hands together

lightly. Phaedor was practically giddy. I have to say, not how I

expected the evening to go.

     Phaedor’s laughter dissolved into a humorous version of his

typical stoneface. “Ahhh, what a pleasant surprise that was.”

     I waved at his two cronies, unconscious on the floor. “You

call this a pleasant surprise?”

     I am very rarely surprised by anyone or anything, Martin,”

his voice had regained it’s imperious timbre, “and let me tell

you my boy, that can become exceedingly tiresome.”

     I think he could tell I wasn’t too pleased about being his

entertainment. “Don’t pout now.” Phaedor admonished. “You’ve put

me in a good mood. Let’s take a walk and discuss things like

gentleman.”

     Phaedor opened the front door, walked out onto the porch,

and waited for me. Had it been anyone else I would have thrown a

lightning bolt up their ass. That being said, Phaedor was the

most powerful magic-user I’d ever met. Not to mention the

scariest bastard you would ever want to meet. At heart, I am

nothing, if not practical. A walk in the dark was about as good

as it was going to get. So, I went out and joined him.

     “Have you found a new driver yet?” Phaedor asked it as if he

hadn’t just tried to have me beaten for information.

     “No. Audrey’s been filling in.”

     “You’re going to have to hire one eventually.” He almost

sounded dissapointed in me. “It’s a dangerous business. You

shouldn’t expose your secretary to unnecessary dangers.”

     Heat ran up my face. I wanted to tell him to mind his own

business. Until it struck me that he was making a good point.

I hadn’t really considered the hazards Audrey might face.

     “You’re right.” I grumbled. “I just haven’t been able to

bring myself to replace Kingston.”

     “You are not replacing a friend, Martin. You are hiring a

driver.”

     “It’s easier said than done.” I hedged.

     Phaedor sighed. “Listen, Martin. You operated best within a

certain set of sensibilities. It’s part of what makes you so good

at what you do.” He sounded genuinely concerned. Imagine that.

“All this bitterness and guilt you are harboring will lead to

nothing but trouble for you. I doubt a year ago, Tatyana could

have taken you so easily.”

     “What’s up with all the warm and fuzzy, Phaedor?”

     “Just because I do not appear to possess the emotional

qualities you so highly prize, does not mean I do not understand

their value.”

     “Yeah, right.” Let’s just say, I was more than dubious.

     Phaedor smiled grimly. “You are so much like your father.”

     “My father! How do you know…”

     The world became a blood red, throbbing void of Phaedor’s

power. Even with my Othersight, all I could see was the red-out

of his magic. The energy was suffocating me, crushing me, I was

drowning in it. Then Phaedor appeared. Ghastly green flames the

color of radiator fluid formed a nimbus of ill will around his

body. He raised one hand and the flames exploded towards me. My

personal shields withered, and I was suddenly drenched in

spectral fire. The ghostly energy licked at me skin, burning like

acid. I tried to repel the onslaught, but my own magic was

cruelly ineffectual.

     A powerful as that assault had been, it was only a feint.

Phaedor rammed his true power straight into my mind, an

unrelenting tidal wave of sorcery. The spell that had been so

effective against the Homonculus, broke like glass. Phaedor was

suddenly there, in my psyche, rummaging around, kicking in doors

and cleaning out the attic space of my memory.

     The Grand Canyon of all migraines ripped through my skull. A

moment, an eternity. Phaedor found what he was searching for, and

in his triumph he got greedy. My body burned and my mind

screamed. Soon, he would have everything.

     The contest of magical strength was already over. I’d lost

that battle the second Phaedor set foot on my property. But, he

was an arrogant bastard, and now that he was in my head I was

willing to gamble I was more stubborn than he was powerful. If I

was lucky, Phaedor probably felt his initial attack had broken

me. He would, of course, be right. ‘Broken’, was normal for me.

I was used to it. I stayed broken half the time. ’Broken’ was an

old pal I invited over for expensive bourbon. Once you get to

broken, there’s very little left to lose.

     I summoned up my Will, like a big, meaty fist and smashed it

into his own psyche. I was right. Phaedor had been so confident

in his attack that he had barely shielded himself at all. My

assault punched right through his nominal mental barriers and I

was in.

     “Still like surprises, Phaedor?”

     I reached into the labyrithine corridors of his mind and

pulled out a curious thing. It was the memory of a beautiful

woman. She had hair so black it almost shone blue as it cascaded

in a thick straight mass all the way down her back. Her coloring

was light bronze, which set off blue eyes that had just a hint of

Asian to them. She was short, with a voluptuous, pear shaped body

wrapped expertly in a red sarong. The feelings associated with

the image were of love, sadness, despair and more.

     “Aleta.” We spoke the name in unison.

     “She smells like honeysuckles.” I said it out loud without

intending to.
    
     The scarlet sea of Phaedor’s might ebbed to nothing, the

green napalm evaporated, and he was just standing there in front

of me, with his fists clenched, his eyes moist. I took some

satisfaction that even Phaedor Tarzmane could be rattled.

     “We shall never speak of this again…” Phaedor’s voice

cracked.

     “Phaedor, I…”

     “Never again!” The big, bad Phaedor had returned and he was

leaving no room for further debate on the subject. “There is a

man in Chicago called Wing. He is the proprietor of Wing’s Tea

House. He can assist you with the black magic you have been

infected with.” He wouldn’t look me in the eye. “My protracted

intrusion in your mind was impolite. Wing will make amends for

me.”

     “The hell he will…” I began, but before I could finish,

Phaedor simply faded away.

END OF CHAPTER 3

The Twilight Tiger
by Bob McKinley
Nytefist7@aol.com

                       The Story Thus Far

     Martin Nytefist is a modern day wizard living in an urban fantasy setting. The novel starts off with Martin trying to help a group of white witches and Indian shaman capture a rampaging Wendigo in Canada. In the process, Martin is critically injured.
     Chapter 2: Ysmine the head witch, takes Martin into a Plane of Magic to heal his injuries. Martin learns he might not be completely human. He also discovers that a very old dark magic spell had been placed on him that he was unaware of. Martin is desperate to break the spell, but Ysmine convinces him that now is not the right time.
     Chapter 3 is what I am submitting for critique.

ONE NOTE: If you could limit grammar comments to being written on the manuscript I would appreciate it. Grammmar is my great bane, and if you guys point out all my mistakes we’ll be here all night. Thanks in advance.

          The cab ride home from Bluegrass Airport was uneventful. I

dozed off and on, between glimpses of horse farms that rapidly

dissolved into subdivisions, office buildings and restaurants.

Everybody “oohs and aahs” over the horse farms, but they were

disappearing faster than a pony keg at a frat party. Lexington

was losing alot of its charm, and the traffic was a major

culprit. It was times like this I was almost glad I couldn’t    

drive.

     One of the nifty little drawbacks to my magical abilities,

is that I carry around a highly charged magnetic field wherever I

go. At least that’s what some poindexter at MIT told me. Whenever

I get within a few feet of anything electronic for an extended

period of time, it’s bad news. That includes car batteries,

computers, watches, and of course, cell phones. As if I didn’t

have enough things to make my life difficult already.

     I put that thought on hold, as the cab pulled up in front of

my house. I have a nice, normal, two story, Bedford stone ranch.

It’s a 1960’s style home that had been built when the far end of

Nicholasville Road had still been considered the boonies. Now I

could throw a rock and hit my choice of mall, car lot, or

restaurant. The joys of progress my ass.

     I pulled the suitcase out of the trunk and my ribs

protested. I had regained enough energy on the trip home to heal

them, but I never use any magical power unless I absolutely need

to. The tiniest pinch of magic can save your life, and you never

know when you might need it. I wasn’t dying and the pain wasn’t

anything I couldn’t handle.

     I paid the cabbie and ambled up the solid stone steps to my

porch. It was a crisp, cool, October evening and I loved it. Fall

is my favorite time of the year. When I was a little kid, I used

to love sitting on the front porch with my mom, looking at all

the glittering stars. She died in a fire when I was ten. Fifteen

years later, standing alone on my porch, it still made me sad. It

was a familiar pain that always like to linger, so I forced

myself to go on inside. I grabbed a handful of mail from the box,

unlocked the door, and lumbered inside. I dropped the suitcase as

soon as I was in, and my ribs thanked me.

     I was glad I’d left the living room lamp on a timer. Maybe

it’s just a natural side effect of my profession, but I hate

going into dark rooms. Dark rooms usually involve evil, super-

natural creatures, vomit, blood, and crying. Oh wait, that was

actually my last date.

     I plopped down on my sofa and began flicking through the

mail. My heart sank into my stomach, as one particular letter

stood out from all the others. It was addressed to Kingston

Bethlehem. Kingston had been my driver and my best friend. He’d

been dead three months now, killed by a rogue werewolf while

visiting his family in Chicago. I never found the vile furball

that did it. By the time I got there, the trail was hopelessly

cold, even with magic. I’d even tried some pretty good psychics,

but they all came up dry.

     It seemed like yesterday he was sitting on this very couch,

smiling his thousand watt smile and giving me a hard time about

one thing or another. Kingston loved Hawaiian shirts, Cuban

cigars and gospel music. Despite his best efforts, I’d never

succumbed to any of those particular temptations. I’d felt funny

at first, about having a black driver, but it was obvious to

anyone who ever met Kingston, he was nobody’s flunkie.

     The doorbell rang and I jumped. I quickly opened up my

suitcase and retrieved one of the Excalibers. No, I don’t make a

habit of answering the door with a gun in my hand. But, it’s not

like I get many night time visitors, at least not ones that

aren’t trying to eat me.

     I have a spell on my front door that makes it see-through,

like a one-way mirror. I don’t like looking through peepholes

anymore. I took a particularly nasty shotgun blast through my

front door one time and it soured me on the practice. I applied a

spark of magic to the door and it became immediately transparent.

From a safe vantage, I looked through the tricked out door and

groaned.

     It was Cristoff and Tatyana. They were hardly my friends,

but I didn’t have any immediate plans to shoot them, so I set the

gun back down, de-activated the spell, and opened the door.

Cristoff was on the left, in his GQ lite attire, flashing his best used car salesman smile. I always thought the combination of

his snappy clothes with a full beard and long hair looked sort of

gay. It had never stopped him from attracting more than his fair

share of female admirers though. Hell, he was practically married

to the woman I loved, who was I to throw stones?

     Tatyana was on the right, wearing one of her many Emma Peel

style body suit deals that always had more leather straps,

utility belts and weapons than actual fabric. It was a grey

outfit tonight, minus all the accoutrements. Tatyana was very

attractive in that James Bond, bad girl kind of way. Great bone

structure, pouty lips, and auburn hair, cut short and done up in

one of those deceptively complicated Euro-styles. I glanced into

her smoldering chestnut eyes and they hardened at the contact.

The whole thing suddenly had a good cop/bad cop feel to it.

     “Well, if it isn’t Abercrombie and bitch.” I couldn’t resist

Cristoff’s smile dimmed almost imperceptibly.

     “Hello, Martin.” Cristoff extended his hand, a gesture that

should have set off alarm bells right away. “Can we come in for a

minute?”

     Like a dumbass, I reached across my body to shake his hand.

The second I made contact, I saw a blur on my right periphery.

I’d barely begun to move when something extremely hard slammed

into my temple. I was weak kneed and disoriented. I tried to

summon up the power for a lightning bolt, but couldn’t even

generate a spark. It was that son of a bitch Cristoff, who still had a deathgrip on my hand. He was draining away my ambient

magical energy. Any spell I tried to muster into being just got

absorbed before I could activate it. Being a Leech was foremost

among Cristoffs meager arsenal of skills.

     I tried to focus on Tatyana, ineffectively trying to use my

left arm as a shield. Whatever she had, I think I caught a

glimpse of a club, smashed into my flailing arm and it went numb.

As soon as my protective arm dropped, she connected with my skull

again and everything went dark.

     I woke up with a really nasty headache, and most likely a

concussion. When you’ve been thunked in the melon as many times

as I have you become intimate with the side effects. It slowly

registered that I was half splayed out over my coffee table. I

tried to move, but my face and chest were pinned to the hardwood.

I could feel a hand pressing down on my neck and my left arm felt

like it was in a hammerlock. The smell of expensive cologne hung

thick in my nostrils, and I fought off a small wave of nausea.

     “Is that you Cristoff?”

     “Yeah, Martin,” he whispered, “sorry about all this.”

     Tatyana’s face came into focus, invading my personal space.
     “He’s awake, Phaedor.”

     Crap. The party was over now. Phaedor didn’t go out and

mingle with the little people very often. He was real big on

delegation. The fact that he was paying me a personal visit did

not bode well at all.

     “Very good, Tatyana.” He had a sharp, meticulous voice like

scissors cutting.

     I glared at Phaedor in his grey Armani suit and burgundy

tie. He looked a young fifty, but in all truth, he was probably

older than dirt. In fact, Phaedor looked exactly the same as when

I first met him fifteen years ago. He smiled a very patient and

beneficial smile.  

     “Hey, Phaedor.”
    
     “Greetings, Martin.”
    
     “I guess this means you’ve screwed my Guards and Wards all

to hell.”
    
     “Alas, your Wards are no more.” Yes, he actually does talk

that way. “I was impressed with the way you stacked them one

across another, like interlocking tiles. You always were very

creative.”

     “Obviously not creative enough.” I could admit that he was

better than me, but I didn’t have to like it.

     “Obviously.” Phaedor’s air of condescension said it all, as

he reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a tiny clay jar.
He removed the earthen lid, said ‘awaken’, then began pouring a

thick, red, viscuous fluid out onto the coffee table. Phaedor

extended his hand over the substance and closed his eyes. The goo

began to bubble, then started swirling up into the air, a

miniature tornado.

     The result of all this sorcerous activity was a rather

disturbing little creature. Six inches tall, it looked like a

demented pixie that someone had tried to burn alive. Stringy

limbs, odd musculature, and an oversize head, gave it the

impression of something half finished. Raw, was possibly the best

word to describe the thing.

     I’d never seen one before, but I was fairly certain what it

was. They were extremely difficult to create and were always done

with a specific purpose in mind. Phaedor must be needing

something from me pretty badly.

     “Wow, Phaedor. You conjured up a Homonculus just for me? I’m

embarrassed. I don’t have a gift for you.”

     Phaedor ignored me. “Servant, engage him.”
    
     “Yes, Master.” The Homonculus had choking frogs instead of a

voicebox.

     The creepy little mass of alchemical properties moved

awkwardly, like some Harryhausen nightmare. It clambered over my

face and took up a position on the crown of my head, where it

then proceeded to bite me. I winced as I felt the puncture of two sharp teeth, and then release.

     “Yuagh! His flesh is foul. Must I Master?” The thing

whimpered.

     “Obey me servant.” Phaedor intoned.

     THe Homonculus groaned, then sank his fangs back into me.

After a moment, there was a ‘plink’ sound, but only in my head,

like a psychic noise. That’s when I knew what the creature was

for.

     “Servant, open his mind.” A rare eagerness lit up Phaedor’s

eyes. “I wish to know everything that transpired in Canada.”

     “That’s what all this is about?” I was honestly

flabbergasted. I’d expected something much more ominous. “If you

wanted to know about my trip to Canada, you could have just asked

me like a normal person.”

     “Would you have told me?”

     I hated to admit it, but he had me. “Well, no.”

     “So there you go.” I couldn’t tell if Phaedor was smiling or

constipated. “As you know, our last meeting was resolved somewhat

unfairly. I felt my interests would be better served by using

more direct methods.” There was impatience burning underneath his words. “Now, servant.”

     I heard the mental ‘plink’ again, then my own disembodied

voice emanate out into the room. “Hi, you’ve reached the brain of

Martin Nytefist, if you are trying to access his thoughts or

memories, they are not at their desk or otherwise unavailable at

this time. Please try again later.” Then a really bad muzak

version of ‘The Girl From Ipa Nima’ began playing.

     Phaedor looked as if he was about to have a seizure. This

from a guy whose most notable show of strong emotion was a raised

eyebrow. Point for me.

     “Servant.” The words boiled out of his mouth.
    
     The now familiar ‘plink’ was louder this time. I heard my

own voice again, which always sounds much more hick than I would

like it to. “If you’re using a touchtone spell, press 1 now. If

you are using standard telepathy, press 2 now. If you would like

to return to the main menu, press ‘star’ now.”

     Phaedor stared at me strangely. “What a fine little wrinkle

you’ve added to the proceedings, Martin.” He began pacing, an

intense expression on his face. “Well, we both know you are not

psychic…a spell perhaps. Cristoff?”

     Cristoff felt the blame shifting his way. “There’s no way he

generated a new spell. I’ve got him clamped down good. If it’s a

spell, it’s an old one.”

     The average person tends to lump psychic abilities and

magical powers all into one big, grab bag. They’re not even close

to the same things. Phaedor was correct, I’m not one bit psychic.

What I can do is apply magical energy in a manner that creates a

simple and efficient psychic ‘effect’. Like the nifty little

telepathic shield I keep running all the time.

     “Phaedor?” Tatyana asked.

     “Yes, Tatyana.”

     “Perhaps if we render him unconscious,” she looked right at

me and smiled as she said it, “his spell will weaken enough for

the Homonculus to do its work.”

     Phaedor seemed to be giving the suggestion serious

consideration.

     “Why do you always have to be such a hardcase, Martin?”

Cristoff asked. “Just tell him what he wants to know. You would

probably be with Aurora right now if you weren’t so stubborn.”

     “When you crawl into bed with Aurora later tonight, and

you’re all filled up with my energy, let me know how much better

the sex is.” It was pretty vicious, even for me, but he’s the one

who brought up a sore topic.

     Cristoff slammed my head down on the coffee table. “Have it

your way.”

     Phaedor waved his hand dismissively. “Very well, Tatyana.”

     Tatyana’s smile grew as she revealed a thick handled club.

It had a large pewter head with mystical sygils engraved upon it.

As I concentrated on the weapon I could sense the magic laying

heavily within it. You can’t say she didn’t come prepared.

Tatyana drew the club back two-handed, a fair ways behind her,

arching her back to achieve maximum power. Christ! She was going

to try and take my head off.

     “You hit me with that again and I’ll kick your bony ass all  

the way to…”

     Wham! The club slammed full force into my skull and I

remembered, that even when you know it’s coming, it always hurts

more than you think it will. It hurt so bad, I didn’t even

realize I’d almost bitten through my tongue until the blood began

seeping out the corner of my mouth.

     The blood.

     An unusually talkative Vampyre once told me, “If you cannot

find it anywhere else, there is always magic in the blood.” At

the time I thought it was a very Vampyre-like thing to say.

Looking back, maybe I had missed the point. IT was that hope that

inspired a very desperate plan. I wasn’t even sure it would work,

and Tatyana would have to come alot closer for me to even try.

     “Haw, Ta-ya-uh…” I tried to mumble something coherent

enough to draw her nearer, but the words came out like bloody

oatmeal. “Ah wu uh awl.”

     Tatyana walked over and bent down right in front of me. “Now

you wish to talk?” The disdain was thick in her voice. “You are

so weak, Nytefist. I’m surprised you lasted this…”

     That’s when I spewed a mouthful of blood right into her

face. She lurched back, screaming in anger, trying to wipe the

scarlet mess out of her eyes. I couldn’t use any of the magic

inside me while Cristoff was on top of me, but if there was just

a trace of power left in my blood I had a fighting chance.

     I threw my will into the crimson stain smeared across

Tatyana’s face. There was a momentary panic as nothing seemed to

be happening. Then, like good whiskey going down, I felt the

familiar pull of my own magic. I put it to quick and efficient

use.

     “Phaedor, he’s up to something.” Cristoff was losing his

nerve. “What should I…”

     He was looking back at Phaedor when I compelled Tatyana to

slam the club directly into his forehead. Her movements were

wooden and forced, but nonetheless effective. There was a

sickening thud and I felt Cristoff go limp on top of me.

     As I began to shrug Cristoff’s dead weight off of me, I saw

the blood receding away from Tatyana’s skin. Like time-lapse

photography, her right eye cleared, then a pale cheekbone peeked

through. Her magical defenses were rapidly dissipating my

advantage. In a few more seconds I’d lose my hold on her. I

projected my intent through the last smear of blood draining away

from her face. Tatyana proceeded to smash herself in the forehead

with her own weapon. She crumpled not so delicately to the

ground.

     I made my way free of Cristoff and grabbed the Homonculus

off of my head with a painful yank. I squeezed the little

monstrosity until it emitted a pitiful ‘yeep’, then exploded in a

cloud of foul smelling, red dust. I caught Phaedor’s glare and we

looked at each other in silence. I knew he could toast my

giblets, but a part of me wanted a piece of Phaedor. The

irrational part that always gets me into trouble. We continued to

stare at each other. I was waiting for it.

     Phaedor began to laugh. A low chuckle that quickly plunged

into a deep well of unexpected mirth.

     “What’s so damn funny?”

     “Bravo, Martin! That was truly outstanding. I’m never

dissapointed in your ingenuity.” He clapped his hands together

lightly. Phaedor was practically giddy. I have to say, not how I

expected the evening to go.

     Phaedor’s laughter dissolved into a humorous version of his

typical stoneface. “Ahhh, what a pleasant surprise that was.”

     I waved at his two cronies, unconscious on the floor. “You

call this a pleasant surprise?”

     I am very rarely surprised by anyone or anything, Martin,”

his voice had regained it’s imperious timbre, “and let me tell

you my boy, that can become exceedingly tiresome.”

     I think he could tell I wasn’t too pleased about being his

entertainment. “Don’t pout now.” Phaedor admonished. “You’ve put

me in a good mood. Let’s take a walk and discuss things like

gentleman.”

     Phaedor opened the front door, walked out onto the porch,

and waited for me. Had it been anyone else I would have thrown a

lightning bolt up their ass. That being said, Phaedor was the

most powerful magic-user I’d ever met. Not to mention the

scariest bastard you would ever want to meet. At heart, I am

nothing, if not practical. A walk in the dark was about as good

as it was going to get. So, I went out and joined him.

     “Have you found a new driver yet?” Phaedor asked it as if he

hadn’t just tried to have me beaten for information.

     “No. Audrey’s been filling in.”

     “You’re going to have to hire one eventually.” He almost

sounded dissapointed in me. “It’s a dangerous business. You

shouldn’t expose your secretary to unnecessary dangers.”

     Heat ran up my face. I wanted to tell him to mind his own

business. Until it struck me that he was making a good point.

I hadn’t really considered the hazards Audrey might face.

     “You’re right.” I grumbled. “I just haven’t been able to

bring myself to replace Kingston.”

     “You are not replacing a friend, Martin. You are hiring a

driver.”

     “It’s easier said than done.” I hedged.

     Phaedor sighed. “Listen, Martin. You operated best within a

certain set of sensibilities. It’s part of what makes you so good

at what you do.” He sounded genuinely concerned. Imagine that.

“All this bitterness and guilt you are harboring will lead to

nothing but trouble for you. I doubt a year ago, Tatyana could

have taken you so easily.”

     “What’s up with all the warm and fuzzy, Phaedor?”

     “Just because I do not appear to possess the emotional

qualities you so highly prize, does not mean I do not understand

their value.”

     “Yeah, right.” Let’s just say, I was more than dubious.

     Phaedor smiled grimly. “You are so much like your father.”

     “My father! How do you know…”

     The world became a blood red, throbbing void of Phaedor’s

power. Even with my Othersight, all I could see was the red-out

of his magic. The energy was suffocating me, crushing me, I was

drowning in it. Then Phaedor appeared. Ghastly green flames the

color of radiator fluid formed a nimbus of ill will around his

body. He raised one hand and the flames exploded towards me. My

personal shields withered, and I was suddenly drenched in

spectral fire. The ghostly energy licked at me skin, burning like

acid. I tried to repel the onslaught, but my own magic was

cruelly ineffectual.

     A powerful as that assault had been, it was only a feint.

Phaedor rammed his true power straight into my mind, an

unrelenting tidal wave of sorcery. The spell that had been so

effective against the Homonculus, broke like glass. Phaedor was

suddenly there, in my psyche, rummaging around, kicking in doors

and cleaning out the attic space of my memory.

     The Grand Canyon of all migraines ripped through my skull. A

moment, an eternity. Phaedor found what he was searching for, and

in his triumph he got greedy. My body burned and my mind

screamed. Soon, he would have everything.

     The contest of magical strength was already over. I’d lost

that battle the second Phaedor set foot on my property. But, he

was an arrogant bastard, and now that he was in my head I was

willing to gamble I was more stubborn than he was powerful. If I

was lucky, Phaedor probably felt his initial attack had broken

me. He would, of course, be right. ‘Broken’, was normal for me.

I was used to it. I stayed broken half the time. ’Broken’ was an

old pal I invited over for expensive bourbon. Once you get to

broken, there’s very little left to lose.

     I summoned up my Will, like a big, meaty fist and smashed it

into his own psyche. I was right. Phaedor had been so confident

in his attack that he had barely shielded himself at all. My

assault punched right through his nominal mental barriers and I

was in.

     “Still like surprises, Phaedor?”

     I reached into the labyrithine corridors of his mind and

pulled out a curious thing. It was the memory of a beautiful

woman. She had hair so black it almost shone blue as it cascaded

in a thick straight mass all the way down her back. Her coloring

was light bronze, which set off blue eyes that had just a hint of

Asian to them. She was short, with a voluptuous, pear shaped body

wrapped expertly in a red sarong. The feelings associated with

the image were of love, sadness, despair and more.

     “Aleta.” We spoke the name in unison.

     “She smells like honeysuckles.” I said it out loud without

intending to.
    
     The scarlet sea of Phaedor’s might ebbed to nothing, the

green napalm evaporated, and he was just standing there in front

of me, with his fists clenched, his eyes moist. I took some

satisfaction that even Phaedor Tarzmane could be rattled.

     “We shall never speak of this again…” Phaedor’s voice

cracked.

     “Phaedor, I…”

     “Never again!” The big, bad Phaedor had returned and he was

leaving no room for further debate on the subject. “There is a

man in Chicago called Wing. He is the proprietor of Wing’s Tea

House. He can assist you with the black magic you have been

infected with.” He wouldn’t look me in the eye. “My protracted

intrusion in your mind was impolite. Wing will make amends for

me.”

     “The hell he will…” I began, but before I could finish,

Phaedor simply faded away.

END OF CHAPTER 3

The Twilight Tiger
by Bob McKinley
Nytefist7@aol.com

                      

    

      

    

        

      

    

        

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